


Retribution

by Roses



Series: Whisky and Cigars [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Anger, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Power Dynamics, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rare Pairing, Revenge, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roses/pseuds/Roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot of people died on Zorya so that Zaeed could have his revenge. After Horizon, Shepard was happy to let the world burn. But now both of them are bruising for a fight, and neither of them are about to back down. </p><p>Not quite non-con, but it's not pretty either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retribution

As I reach the end of the corridor, I catch a glimpse of myself in the polished metal of the door to the starboard cargo bay. I look bad. Not even human any more. There's a damned good reason I've covered up the mirrors in my bathroom. No one should have to look at themselves and see that. To look in the mirror, and see all of the hatred inside of you reflected on your face.   
  
Horizon was the final nail in the coffin. God only knows what Kaidan thought when he saw me. Assuming that he thought anything at all. Assuming that he wasn't too busy shouting at me to notice.   
  
I can see the red-orange light of my cybernetic implants in great, angry gouges across my cheeks, but the worst part is the eyes: They're such a bright, violent red that when I close them you could probably see them glowing through my eyelids.   
  
I grind my teeth, push it all aside, and open the door.   
  
Inside, Zaeed is pacing like a grizzled tiger shut in a cage that's far too small for him. He doesn't even look up as I come in. I'd been hoping that what happened down on Zorya would have cooled him off, but from the look of things it's only made him worse.   
  
The door re-engages behind me.   
  
I cross my arms.  
  
"Is there a problem here, Zaeed?"  
  
He rounds on me, and the look in his eyes is almost as murderous as the one I saw in the cargo bay door.  
  
"Damned right there is."  
  
I'm in no mood to play his games. I shift my weight, and stare him down.  
  
"Are you going to spit it out, or do you need me to send Yeoman Chambers down here to analyse you?"  
  
"You need to shut your goddamned mouth, Shepard," he says. He sounds about ready to torture someone to death. Slowly. "This is your fault. All of this is your goddamned fault."  
  
I am very careful to make sure that I don't give any sign of the impending explosion that I can feel building inside of me. I tamp down on that anger, and dig my fingernails into my palms.  
  
I say, "What the hell's your problem, Massani? I would have thought that killing your little friend down on Zorya would have made you happy."  
  
"Happy?" Zaeed growls.   
  
He's even more far gone than I am. I can actually hear the curtain of red mist drawing closed across his voice.  
  
" _Happy_ ?"   
  
Every muscle across his shoulders is tense, and crackling with potential.  
  
I force myself to look calm and unhurried. As though I'm gazing vacantly out of a viewport. It's a trick that I've picked up from him, but I've been putting it to good use.  
  
I shrug.  
  
"It's what you wanted, isn't it?"  
  
He storms across the scrap-littered floor of the cargo bay, closing the distance between us until he's squared off against me and I can feel his breath against my neck.  
  
"What I wanted was to make Vido Santiago suffer for what he did to me, Shepard. What I  _wanted_  was to make him feel every bloody twinge of pain that he's put me through over the last twenty years. But  _you_  had to hold me back. You had to argue with me for long enough that, by the time we got to him, I had was to work fast or let him get away."  
  
This isn't true. None of what he's saying connects to what happened down on Zorya. At the back of my mind, I find myself wondering whether he's as comfortable with leaving those workers to burn as he makes out. Whether it's gnawing at the pale shadow of what's left of his conscience, or whether he's just reached the end of a line of hatred that he's been following for twenty years, and found that killing Vido hasn't done anything to ease the boiling rage.  
  
At any other time, maybe I would have tried to talk to him about it.  
  
Not after Horizon.  
  
Instead, I jab the finger of my gauntlet hard into his chest and say:  
  
"Are you going to learn some respect and shut that mouth of yours, Zaeed? Or do I have to help you?"  
  
He makes a hard, angry sound and narrows his mismatched eyes.   
  
He says, "You think you get to push me around? Bullshit. You stopped me from giving Vido what he deserved. Maybe I should finish the job on you."  
  
I step into him. Chestplate-to-chestplate. I give him a look that would make a krogan cry. I'm bristling for a fight, and the mood I'm in I may well just beat him to death. I drop my voice until it's a whisper.  
  
"You just try it, Massani," I tell him. "Just try."  
  
Zaeed stares right back at me.   
  
He isn't backing down.  
  
"And what? What you going to do to me, Shepard? Bore me to death with your pathetic threats?"  
  
I press my tongue against the back of my teeth until my jaw aches. So much for staying calm.  
  
"You need to back down, Zaeed," I menace. "Or you'll be choking on your teeth."  
  
His breath is hot and hard against my skin. I can feel my shoulders shaking.   
  
He says, "Is that what you said to your self-righteous Alliance boyfriend down on Horizon? Because maybe that's why he couldn't get away from you fast enough."  
  
Something inside me snaps--as surely as any broken ligament.   
  
I hit him.  
  
Hard.  
  
I've worked with Zaeed long enough now to know where all the weak points in his armour are, to know exactly where he complains the most when he gets cracked by enemy fire. And, no matter how pissed off I am, I'm not about to let that information go to waste.   
  
I plant my fist into his stomach where I know the armour plating's thinnest. The blow knocks the air out of him, and as he folds over on himself I bring my knee up to connect with his jaw and send him sprawling.   
  
Then, I bury my foot in the bruised muscles of his abdomen while he's lying on the floor, just to be sure.  
  
Zaeed coughs and struggles to breathe.   
  
My fists are bunched at my sides and my muscles are as hard as iron.  
  
He spits a thin film of blood out onto the cargo bay floor.  
  
"You filthy little bitch."  
  
I'm too angry to even laugh at him.  
  
"And what the hell are you going to do about it, Massani?" I yell at him. "What are you going to do? You going to simper like a kicked dog?"  
  
I bury my foot in his stomach again to emphasise my point, and revel in the stifled, pained sound that I get out of him.  
  
"You just going to lie there, you pathetic, miserable old man?" I'm screaming now. My voice is distorted. Barely even my own. "Or are you going to get back up and fight?"  
  
At the back of my mind, I'm beginning to realise that I've done something I've spent this whole mission promising that I wouldn't do: I've lost control.   
  
It doesn't matter. It's too late to stop it now.  
  
When I go to kick him again, he rolls out of the way and lets the momentum carry him back up to his feet. The cybernetics behind my eyes are hurting. It's like I can actually feel them burning two holes into my skull.   
  
I lunge for him, but this time he is ready for me. I guess I'm not the only one that's been studying my team mates' weaknesses. It's as if he knows where my hand is going to be, even before I do.   
  
He catches my clenched fist easily, and wrenches my arm out of the way before bringing his other hand around to crack me in the jaw. My vision blurs, and the world comes apart a little at the seams.   
  
I stumble backwards. From a long way away, I'm aware of the sound of EDIs calm, synthetic voice cutting through the fog.  
  
"Shepard, would you like me to inform Miss Lawson that you require her assistance?"  
  
I bring my gauntlet to my face, and wipe the blood away from my nose. I look up, and see Zaeed coming for me again. I know the look that he has in his eyes: He isn't going to stop until one of us is dead.  
  
Good.  
  
I say, "Shut the hell up, EDI," and try to get myself out of his way.   
  
The blow to the head has left me clumsy and disorientated, and instead of getting clear, I trip on one of the hunks of scrap metal on the deck. Zaeed digs his fingers underneath my shoulder plate, pulls me to my feet and slams me back against the bulkhead.  
  
Then everything goes very still and very, very silent.   
  
As my vision clears, I realise that he has the barrel of his pistol pressed right up underneath my chin. My head is tilted back, and he has my gun arm in a deathgrip. Our lungs are heaving. The sweat glistens on his skin.  
  
Every ounce of my attention is focused on him. Every muscle in my body is on fire.  
  
"Do it," I say, my voice is low, and soft, and shaking.   
  
And I mean it, too. After everything that's happened, part of me that believes it would be a relief. And then there's the other part of me: The part that thinks that I can't die. The part that wants to find out if that's true.  
  
Zaeed digs the gun deeper under my jaw.   
  
He wasn't expecting this.  
  
I grit my teeth, and snarl, "What the hell are you waiting for, Massani?  _Do it_ !"  
  
I don't see the pistol leave his hand. I don't even hear it clatter to the floor. But I feel his hands connect with my shoulders as he slams me back against the bulkhead for a second time. And I feel his mouth on mine as he grabs a handful of my hair, and kisses me.  
  
I make a small, angry sound as he forces his tongue into my mouth, but don't fight him hard enough to make him stop.  
  
I wrap my free hand around the back of his neck, and grab him by the hair. Then, when I feel him pull away, I wrench his head back hard enough to make him cry out. He lets go of my gun hand, and I shove him away.   
  
Then, I crack him in the jaw again. Just for good measure.   
  
I've split his lip open, and when I press into him and kiss him I can taste his blood in my mouth. He pushes me away too roughly. For all his shoving me around, he sure as hell doesn't like it when the boot is on the other foot.   
  
By the time I realised that he's kicked my kneecap, I'm already folding to the floor and Zaeed is right there on top of me. He forces one of my arms behind my back as I fall (my lead hand again, the old bastard knows  what he's doing), so that when I land it's pinned down underneath me. Then, he takes grabs hold of my other hand and holds it down against the floor.   
  
Zaeed pushes a well-armoured kneecap between my legs until the pain forces me open them, and while I'm busy struggling, his free hand is at the catches on my armour--prising it away and ripping my jumpsuit open down the front.   
  
I can feel the mingled rage and the desire coming off him in waves. Mixing with the heat in our breath. He pushes his hand down between my legs, and takes hold of me.   
  
I can't help myself. I arch my back. I press my hips into his hand.  
  
I can hear him laughing in my ear.   
  
I spit and struggle, but it doesn't matter now. He knows I'm faking it.   
  
He's unfastening the catches on his armour, using his weight to pin me down beneath him against the cold metal of the deck. Forcing himself inside of me.   
  
The blood from his split lip drips down onto my face, mixing with my own in ugly, rusted smears. He isn't going to be gentle, and I fight him tooth and nail until every muscle in my body is aching and on fire. His hand tightens underneath my waist, bringing my hips in line with his attentions. Eventually, I manage to work a hand free and press it down between his armour and his back--digging my nails into the skin, and raking hard enough to draw blood from him.   
  
The heat and pressure is building in the bottom of my belly. I press up onto my aching shoulder-blades and sink my teeth into his neck until he grabs me by the throat.  
  
"You fucking bitch."  
  
I swallow hard against the crushing pressure on my neck.  
  
"Fuck you, Zaeed"  
  
My own voice is strangled. Ragged. Shaking.   
  
A calloused hand slides up through the sweat coating my sides and over my breasts.  The heat and pressure in my stomach hardens, and threatens to overwhelm me. I close my eyes and give one final, futile push against his shoulder. I can taste blood and sweat on my lips, and in my mouth. His. Mine. It doesn't matter.   
  
All that pain and hate and bile that's been looming since Horizon is like a wave about to break... And there's nothing I can do to stop it any more.  
  
I let out a long, shuddering cry that comes from the very bottom of my diaphragm.  
  
And I finally let go.  
  


*  *  *

  
As Zaeed fastens his armour and tries to get as far away from me as possible, I ease myself up onto one of the blocks of compacted metal at the back of the cargo bay. Slip my hand down between the metal and the wall until I find the bottle that I know he keeps back there for rainy days. My jumpsuit is still ripped open down the front, and I don't bother to refasten it. I use my teeth to pull the cork out of the whisky bottle, and smirk at Zaeed when he turns his back on me and walks towards the door.  
  
I let him sweat for a few moments, just until the doors come open, before I say:  
  
"Zaeed?"  
  
"What?"  
  
When I don't respond, he turns around.   
  
I offer him the bottle.   
  
He walks back towards me cautiously--as though he's half-afraid that I've poisoned it--but he drinks hard all the same, and flinches when the whisky hits the open wound on his lip.  
  
I move into the corner, making space for him beside me. When he concedes, I take the bottle from his hand.  
  
"Relax," I tell him, and when he doesn't: "I needed that."  
  
Some of the tension finally comes out of his shoulders.   
  
"Yeah," he says. "You and me both, princess."  
  
He takes a cigar out of his pocket and bites the end off. He lights it, and he doesn't complain when I take it from his hand to smoke.   
  
"You aren't pissed off at me for bloodying your nose," he says.   
  
It's more of a statement than a question. I raise my hand to touch the painful bruise over my left cheekbone, and I shrug.  
  
"No more pissed off than you are at me for splitting your lip open."  
  
He laughs, drinks, and touches the corner of his mouth.  
  
"I've had worse," he says.  
  
And I smile.  
  
"Yeah," say. "And me. And I bet that I'll heal about a hundred times faster than you will."  
  
Zaeed shakes his head, and pushes his fingers through his thinning hair.   
  
"Goddamned machines," he says. "You'll be putting the rest of us out of work before long."  
  
I hand the cigar back to him.  When I don't say anything, he adds:  
  
"Listen, Shepard. I wanted to ask you something."  
  
I run my tongue over my lips. They taste of blood and salt and alcohol.  
  
"Shoot."  
  
Zaeed says, "Down on Zorya. The people in that factory. We left them to die. Why?"  
  
I remember the look on that technician's face, standing up on the gantry over the yard and begging us to save him. In another life, maybe I would have felt for him. Wondered about the family that he left behind, or what his hopes and dreams were. Instead, even the memory of him is soon replaced by one where I'm stalking like a tigress through the thick jungle of Zorya with Zaeed at my side...  
  
 _'Stay close,' he'd tells me. 'And keep your wits about you. By the looks of it, their patrols come through here every hour or so.'  
  
I look down at my feet, and see that he's right. We're following a light trail between the undergrowth and vines. I can hear the wildlife squawking in the canopy above us. The ground is covered in deep green, dappled light...  
  
There are footprints in the mud.  
  
'Keep sharp, Shepard,' Zaeed tells me. 'There's an outpost just ahead.'  
  
He moves through the jungle like a hardened predator, and I follow silently behind him. Like he is teaching me to hunt. Our senses are sharpened to a razor's edge. The factory burns... and we keep walking..._  
  
I draw a breath, still trying to work out whether Zorya has needled Zaeed's conscience, or whether he's just discovered that he's as pissed off now as he was when Vido was alive. At the end of the day, maybe it's a little of both.  Maybe it's neither. I've never been very good at reading his motivations.  
  
I come back slowly to his question.  
  
"You needed it," I say, and, after a few heavy seconds more: "And besides, you weren't down there fighting for me, Zaeed. I was backing you up while you made good on your contract. It was your mission. Your call. I'm not going to second guess you any more than I expect you to start second guessing me. You did what you wanted. What you had to. Those deaths are on your conscience. Not mine."  
  
Zaeed watches the cigar burning between his thumb and forefinger and says nothing at all.  
  
Eventually, I say:  
  
"If I was you, I'm not sure that I wouldn't have wanted the same thing. Sometimes, you just need to watch the world burn."  
  
Zaeed watches the smoke rising towards the ceiling.   
  
"Twenty years I've been living off that rage, Shepard. Waiting to give Vido what he deserves. You didn't get in my way while I did it," He shakes his head, and hands me the cigar. "What I said earlier..."  
  
I smile, and put my hand onto his shoulder.  
  
"Don't mention it, Zaeed."  
  
He nods, and rests his forearms on his knees.   
  
"Appreciate it, Shepard."  
  
I lean back, and draw the cigar smoke right into the back of my mouth.   
  
"Just promise me something," I tell him. "Promise me that you'll hold onto some of that rage of yours long enough for us to catch up with the Collectors."  
  
Zaeed laughs.  
  
"There's more than enough to go around, Shepard, believe you me," he says, and, after a moment: "You really hate them that much?"  
  
I turn the ember of the cigar into my palm and squeeze it until it goes out. My gauntlet saves my hand from the worst of it, but it's enough to make me hurt.  
  
"The Collectors destroyed everything I loved," I say. "You're goddamned fucking right I hate them. And, when I catch up with them, I'm going to make them pay for every damned hour of the two years that I spent on a table in a lab because of them. I'm going to make them pay for every person that I've lost because of what they did to me."  
  
Zaeed rolls the bottle between his palms, and nods.  
  
I lean forwards and lock eyes with him.   
  
"Will you help me do that, Zaeed?"  
  
He offers me the bottle.  
  
"Damned right that I will, Shepard," he says. "Right now, I think that it's the least that I can do."


End file.
